


The Scribblings of a Part-time Soldier

by soundwaves_flowercrown



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autobot Academy, Blood and Injury, Child Soldiers, Cybertronians have childhoods now, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Out of Character, School AU (I think idk), Swearing, actual child abuse, first person POV, the Autobots are not great
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:54:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29016957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundwaves_flowercrown/pseuds/soundwaves_flowercrown
Summary: Floron III is under Autobot control. Which means every single protoform that crawls out of the primordial metal goo is a gremlin for war. Herein lies my predicament, because I, Clutch, am one of those gremlins. I exist to grow up, fight Decepticons, and die. And I hate it.
Kudos: 2





	1. Four Reasons not to be Forged on Floron III and One why is isn’t so Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Units*:  
> Second - Nanoklik  
> Minute - Klik  
> Hour - Orn  
> Day - Cycle  
> Week - Paracycle  
> Month - Megacycle  
> Year - Kilocyle  
> Decade - Tritex  
> Century - Quartex  
> Millenium - Miltex  
> 10,000 years - Megatex  
> 100,000 years - Gigatex  
> 1 million - Eon
> 
> Rough human to Cybertronian Age estimates (0-21)*:  
> 0-2 = 0-250  
> 2-4 = 250-500  
> 4-6 = 500-1,000  
> 7-9 = 1,000-2,500  
> 9-12 = 2,500-5,000  
> 13-15 = 5,000-7,500  
> 16-18= 7,500-9,500  
> 18-21= 9,500-10,000ish
> 
> The protagonists are about 5,000ish or 12/13
> 
> *I made both of these up for this fic, no basis in cannon

Floron III sucks major aft. 

Like honestly, how does a planet suck this bad. 

I could tell you about how the thick as hell atmosphere blocks out all the stars in the sky. Or I could tell you about the stinky green water that makes everything smell like Major Hardaft’s (real name = unimportant) undercarriage. Better yet, I could tell you about the weird bugs that crawl into your berth and gnaw at your pedes and then promptly die because their organic systems cannot process metal so you wake up surrounded by rotting, fleshy corpses. But the thing that sucks the most about this backwash planet is the rest of the losers who are stuck here too. 

You see, Floron III is home to one of the last remaining Cybertronian hotspots. It‘s like a big deal because Cybertron went dark an eon ago or some scrap (no one cares except the old-aft teachers who run this mess) and hotspots are how more of our kind are created. So before the old planet kicked the bucket, some “brilliant engineers” were able to harvest the core essence of the hotspot and transfer it here. A couple thousand years later and it was back to pumping out sparklings just like in the old days. 

But... that’s the issue.

Floron III is under Autobot control. Which means every single protoform that crawls out of the primordial metal goo is a gremlin for war. Herein lies my predicament, because I, Clutch, am one of those gremlins. I exist to grow up, fight Decepticons, and die. 

And I hate it. 

No one else seems to hate it though and that’s the most frustrating part. It’s like they revel being forged for a cause they have no stake in. They seem excited to kill and die in a war for a planet that no longer exists. Well, all of them except Strongarm. She’s the only mech to date who seems to tolerate my presence which makes her, by default, my best friend. 

We’ve always had a bond. I mean, I kind of owe her my life. We share the same forging day. 4693 kilocycles ago her little protoform self pulled me out of the Sentio Metallico. I don’t think I would have made it out on my own.

I was a mess up right from the start. My protoform was all out of whack. The blacksmith did their best to construct a form that I could actually stay alive in. And like its liveable, but dear Primus I am UGLY. My head is too big for the rest of my form. Not to mention, my optics are lopsided and one of them is bigger than the other. My torso is crooked. My left arm is more buff than my right. And my legs are STICKS. Like, I genuinely don’t know how they keep the rest of me upright.

Funny enough, this crazy-aft form was the best case scenario for me. I’m alive because of it. And because of Strongarm. She doesn’t seem to care that I’m ugly. Like, she is the only damn bot who doesn’t go out of her way to point it out. In fact, she never mentions it at all. Not once. 

Strongarm is the only reason I don’t go and find a cliff to jump off of.


	2. Stay Far Far Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clutch learns an important lesson

There was a mech. I like to call him Major Hardaft. Or just Major. Or anything but his real name - which he doesn’t deserve. He was the Combat Director of the Academy and my worst enemy. 

Yes, I know, a hell of a thing picking the fighting teacher to be my enemy. But, if I am honest, he picked me to be his enemy first.

Our rivalry began during “The Trials.”

The Trials (ugh). Yes, very cliche. But it's what they're called. 

Anyways, the Trials were a series of tests to determine aptitude for the main fields of study: Combat (the coolest and most sought after group), Medical (the respectable group), and Science (the washup and nerd group). In the end, we would be placed into the most probable category of study and stuck there until graduation. Strongarm was assigned to the Combat Division. I got stuck in Science with all the rest of the rejects.

The Trials took a whole Kilocycle and left most of us feeling utterly humiliated. Mostly because of the ongoing criticism and jeering from the aforementioned Major Hardaft. He took a special liking to grinding any sense of self-worth I had into dust. Repeatedly. 

His reasoning: I was weak. And weakness needed to be embarrassed out of me. 

It didn’t work.

I am still weak.

But for as much as he hated me, he loved Strongarm. 

I mean, what’s not to love. She is everything I am not: strong, brave, intelligent, handsome, competent, I could go on, but you get the point. It was during the Trials that he claimed her as his prized student. 

“The next Prowl?” I asked her during the final cycles of the Trials. The Major had said he would mold Strongarm into “the next Prowl” during that cycle’s series of tests. 

We were in our bunks. Lights out was ten kliks ago, but I was still awake. I couldn’t put those words out of my mind. She poked her head over the side from her top bunk and motioned for me to join her. I crawled off of my berth and up the ladder to hers. 

“Yeah,” she whispered after I situated myself.

“What does he mean by that?” 

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Like make you all-powerful?”

She shrugged her shoulders again. 

I prodded her with a few more questions, but she didn’t answer any of them. I stopped and we sat in silence. 

“He’s bad,” Strongarm said after what seemed like an orn.

“Duh,” I replied. 

“Not just mean. He’s like evil.”

“Yeah, I know,” I didn’t know what she meant.

“No, like, when these trails are over you stay away from him. Far, far away.”

“What about you?”

“You stay far away, okay.”

“But…”

“Shut up!” One of the other fledglings yelled, “Or I’ll tell the monitor!”

Strongarm pushed me to the edge. I took the hint and crawled down to my berth. Not that I recharged much.


	3. Another Set of Predicaments (My Life is a Mess)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clutch finds out some upsetting information.

I was 2914 kilocycles old when I found out I couldn’t transform. It was well past the time where a fledgling was supposed to figure out the general idea of their alt-mode. For a while, my inability to transform was choked up to being a “weird-looking late bloomer.” 

Then the medics had a good look at me. 

Their conclusion: monoformer.

I mean, not that I was all that surprised when they told me I was a monoformer. I expected nothing less. Just like the rest of my body, my t-cog was kaput. But, something shifted after the medics finished their examination. They became a whole lot crueler (something, I’ll add, that they never really stopped being). 

“A waste of time and energon,” one medic said while I was still in the room. I was so furious when she said that. As if I wasn’t another bot with functioning audio receptors and feelings.

“We must recommend termination to the Administration,” Another said. 

I got a lot less angry and a lot more scared.

Monoformer = Death 

I knew the admin had been looking for a reason to stop wasting resources on me since I was forged. But, it always (I mean always) came off as a joke (albeit a cruel and humiliating joke, but still.) 

Like, “Ha, ha, ha. Look at the stupid ugly sparkling. He’ll never amount to anything. We should just get rid of him. Ha, ha, ha...”

Or, “Wow, look at this waste of Energon. We should just stop giving him rations. HA! HA! HA!”

There was never any real threat. It hurt, sure, but I knew was stupid, ugly, and useless. They weren’t saying anything that I didn’t already know or believe. But being a monoformer… that came with real consequences. Deadly consequences. 

Even though killing a fledgling is probably against some part of the Autobot code (wouldn’t know, didn’t read it), I am sure sweeping the “mysteriously” dead, deformed freak wouldn’t be difficult. 

Thank Primus Strongarm skipped class that day and followed me to the clinic. 

“DON’T TERMINATE HIM!” She screamed as she burst through the door to the examination room. The three medics' optics widened with surprise. I was surprised too. That was the only time I ever saw Strongarm yell. To this day, I have never again seen her raise her voice like that. 

“If you terminate him, I won’t fight for the Autobots,” She declared, “And… And. And I’ll make sure all the other fledglings know what monsters you are!”

The medics glanced at one another. Their surprised looks long gone, replaced with amusement. The one who recommended termination smiled and walked up to Strongarm. He knelt to her level, meeting her optics. 

“Alright,” he said, “Cadet Strongarm, is it?”

“Yessir,” she said nodding her head. 

“I’ll make you a deal,” he continued, “You keep your… companion out of our way and out of the way of every other student’s education and we will indulge his wasteful use of our precious resources for as long as you deem him amusing. How does that sound?”

For as long she deems me amusing? My mind echoed. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Deal,” she thrust her servo forward. The medic took her servo gingerly and gave it a shake. It was sealed.

“Deal,” he said and rose to his pedes.

“Off with you,” he motioned for me to leave. I didn’t need to be told twice. I leaped off the examination table and straight to Strongarm. She gave me a big hug and squeezed until I squeaked. 

“Out!” The medics said in unison. Strongarm grabbed my servo and dashed out of the room. 

I was safe. 

Strongarm saved me. At least for now. But “for now” was good enough for me. 

Strongarm didn’t bring up the fact that I was a monoformer. Somewhere deep down inside of her, I think she already knew. She’d already accepted it and moved on. 

We never talked about that day. 

Ever. 

Not even as a joke or something. 

Throughout the years, being a monofomer weighed on my spark. Like being ugly is one thing but not having access to the ONLY THING that really defines your kind - well. That hurts. There is not much else separating me from another mechanoid or even a damn robot. It’s humiliating and no one ever lets me forget it. Except for Strongarm. When I am with her, it doesn’t matter that I am ugly or a monoformer. It never did.


	4. Bonus Points if you are Ugly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Clutch's survival tactics

Floron III was a cruel place. And after everyone else found out I was a monoformer, it got even crueler.

I became the pile of junk for everyone to project their deepest insecurities and self-loathing onto. I was the embodiment of “at least I’m not him.” The lowest of the low. The ugly waste of resources. The monoformer.

And I got punished for it… 

A lot. 

Like, a lot, a lot. 

Like at least twice a paracycle (when I was lucky). 

I can’t begin to count the times I’ve been locked in a closet. Or run over. Or punched unconscious. Or dumped in a lake. Or welded to the ceiling. Or dumped in the bone pile. Or tied to my berth and buried under a mass of rotting organic insects. Honestly, it would take me years to list the thousands upon thousands of cruel and unusual methods my peers deemed fit to torture me with. 

Strongarm doesn’t stand for it though. When she’s around, the other fledglings don’t go near me. Strongarm could punch their insides out if she was mad enough. And she was ALWAYS mad enough. 

Strongarm was forged mad. Like seriously, rumor has it that the first thing she did when she crawled out of the goo was punch the first extractor she saw in the face. It probably didn't hurt (you know, still being a pretty malleable being at that point and all), but it pretty much explains her. Most sparklings come out whining or crying or screaming but Strongarm was quiet. Quiet and mad. She's still pretty much that same mech. Some people say that the Sentio Metallico holds the memories of all it creates. In my processor, I know that's an old bots fever dream, but it would explain Strongarm. It was like she was forged with the knowledge that she would be sent off to die in a meaningless war. And knowing that made her mad. And people beating me up made her double mad. And being on the receiving end of double mad Strongarm looked painful. 

For as angry as Strongarm was all the time, she never - and I mean NEVER - took it out on me. All my life I have seen her punch and kick the living scrap out of those who pissed her off. And I’ve pissed her off more than anyone, but she has never ever laid a servo on me. 

Even with Strongarm watching out for me, punishment was inevitable. So, I’ve gotten pretty good at hiding. In the early cycles, I hid under my berth. That was discovered pretty fast. After that, it was the cleaning supplies closet. Then a vent. Then a surprisingly stable ceiling beam. Then a mysterious empty storage unit. All were (unfortunately and violently) compromised. 

I’ve learned to strategically rotate my hideouts. Never staying in one place for long. The only safe place outside of my hiding spots is the library. Run by our only on base librarian, the minicon Upkeep. 

Before she was stationed here, she worked in the Iacon Hall of Records (yeah that Hall of Records - granted in the basement with all of the weird scrap, but still IACON). It was there that she started collecting all manner of illustrated stories. Yup, you read that right, comics. Or graphic novels. Or funnies. Or cartoons. Or whatever other names they have. She loved ‘em. Something about telling a story through pictures grabbed her attention and she never let go.

Even from the dark recesses of the Hall, she was able to collect physical and digital copies of these types of stories from all over the galaxy. She faithfully translated and uploaded them onto holopads for Cybertronians to read. It never caught on. No surprise. (No one ever came to the basement.) But that didn’t matter. They were her passion and she didn’t need others for validation. Upkeep was able to save most of her collection before the Decepticons raided Iacon and burned it to the ground. She brought it here. It was the only thing she managed to save from the vast databases. 

She said when I first stumbled into the library, “Pictures are the first language. You don’t need to spend eons slaving away trying to understand alphabets and syntax to grasp this.” 

I didn’t really get what she was saying until she pulled up a picture of two scaly organic beings with tails embracing. A star was setting over the horizon making the image glow with warmth. One of the creatures was crying. You could tell they were close. Dear friends, reunited after a long time apart. Even my dumb processor got it. No words needed. 

She spent years showing me her collections. The library was safe. The stories even safer. I loved them so much that I tried my servo at drawing a few. 

I was bad. 

Really bad. 

But Upkeep liked them.

“Keep at it, Clutch,” she said to me, “Every one of the greats started out bad. It is only in persistence that we create art.” 

I did keep at it. But, truth be told, I am not much better at it now than I was then. Sure, a little more polished, but overall pretty garbage. Plus, what use did drawing comics have in an eons-long war? 

None. 

So, I stuck to reading them. I even got Strongarm to read a few. But she never really had the time that I did. The admin had high hopes for her. Especially Major Hardaft (it’s funnier when he doesn’t have a real name). But every once in a while, she manages to sneak away and read the dusty holopads with me for as long and Upkeep will let us stay. 

Tonight was one of those once-in-a-whiles. 

“Come on,” I said as we dashed through the corridors. Strongarm was way faster than me, but she was tired from combat practice (probably the only cruel thing I was spared from in this hell hole on account of my status as a monoformer). 

“Quiet,” she replied just behind me, “I don’t have the energy to fend off any bullies.”

She was right, of course, but I still let out a little giggle. She always had the energy to fight. 

I reached the library door before her. Not that we were racing, but it felt good to beat her to somewhere. 

“Hurry up, slowpoke,” I teased. When Strongarm reached the entrance, I received a gentle tap on the shoulder with her fist. 

“Up yours, tough guy,” she said before walking inside where Upkeep was waiting. 

“About time you got here,” the minicon said and pointed to the corner where a couple of crates filled with holopads were sitting, “Those are all the new ones. Haven't had a chance to filter through them, but there should be more of that series you like.”

“You mean the one about the pirate lizards?” I asked. 

“Yes, my favorite,” Strongarm said. 

“Please tell me some other ones came in,” I whined, “Those ones are for sparklings.”

Strongarm rolled her optics at me before walking over to the crates. 

“Yes, yes,” Upkeep replied waving her servo, ‘You’ll just have to sort through them.” 

I sighed overdramatically and walked over to the crates. I wasn’t actually upset, but I loved giving Upkeep scrap. Strongarm had fished out the next installment and was already reading. She really loved the stupid stories for sparklings. I mean, not that I blamed her. The silly stories with predictable endings were comforting. They were safe in a universe that definitely wasn’t. Still, I preferred the scary stories. Like really scary. Stuff that even Upkeep didn’t have the fortitude for. It was fun to read about someone else getting brutally punished for existing. Cathartic really. 

Strongarm and I read comics until Upkeep gave us a warning, “Lights out in a few.” 

I put the holopads back in the crates being sure to organize them by titles (Upkeep liked to keep things neat). Strongarm stopped me from taking hers. 

“One more mili-klik,” she insisted. The light in her optics was genuine. She didn’t look like she was angry or in pain when she was reading. The fake life inside of those dumb cartoons were a lot better than her real life. She likes the stupid stuff I draw too. Makes her happy. Gives her another world to dream about. I wish I could make that world real. For the both of us. But the best I can do is give her a scrappy imitation on a holopad. And that’s gotta be enough. At least for now.


	5. Because History is way Cooler than it's made out to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of the new Quartex and things are already going down. 
> 
> CW for mild violence and ableism.

Strongarm and I were 5114 kilocylces old and it was the first quartex of intermediary school. No longer were we the squirmy “primaries” all the older students picked on, but also not the “secondaries” that everyone was scared of. A somewhat safe place to be as far as the hierarchy of the academy went. 

I was excited, honestly. Classes for intermediates actually mattered. We would be trusted with more responsibility, more work. Strongarm and I came early to our first class, history with Professor Glyph, and managed to find some seats in the back corner of the room where it was safe. I had only seen her around the academy a couple times. Hard to miss being that she was in a wheelchair and all. The first time I saw her I asked Upkeep what happened. Injuries to the legs were easily repairable, right? 

“Normally, these injuries, while painful, can be fixed,” Upkeep explained, “But, Autobot high command had no real use for archaeometrists so they elected not to waste precious medical resources. Thus the damage became permanent.”

“What’s an archeonomestrist?” I asked, butchering the word.

“Archaeometrist,” Upkeep corrected, “Someone who uses science to study history.”

“That seems valuable.”

“Normally, yes. But not in a war. So, she got sent here.”

“How did it happen?”

“Not my story to tell,” Upkeep replied. 

Sitting in the back of Professor Glyph’s class for the first time, my curiosity burned. I wondered what happened to her and hoped she would tell us in class. I mean, if we had any time. I heard this course was hard. Everyone had been warned that Glyph was not someone you messed with. Not that you could tell by looking at the rest of the fledglings. They were all already yelling, fighting, and teasing each other. Strongarm and I were the only ones sitting down. Queen of the class, Nightra and her gaggle of glitches, took notice. I shot a look over to Strongarm. She didn’t return it. Her optics were focused on the approaching figures.

Nightra scared me. More so than all the other mean bots she surrounded herself with. She was intelligent, popular, beautiful, ferocious, and talented. But worst of all, she shared a frame with Strongarm. I mean, they REALLY looked like twins. Even though Nightra was red and Strongarm blue and white, the similarities were unmistakable. (like, they should have been the two forged on the same cycle. Not Strongarm and I.) Nightra was everything Strongarm would have been if she hadn’t taken to protecting me as a part of her personality. Nightra knew that. I knew that. Strongarm had to know that, but she never let it on.

“Heeyy, Strongarm,” Nightra teased as she propped herself on Strongarm’s desk. She didn’t return the greeting. Nightra’s cronies, Glow and Scorch, stood to either side of her surrounding Strongarm. Scorch was closest to me and shot me a hard glare.

“I see you're still hanging out with this piece of junk,” Nightra motioned towards me, but before Strongarm could counter she continued, “We’re intermediates now. We have to start taking things seriously. Start reaching our potential. Becoming warriors. Honestly, it’s time to dump the dead weight.”

“Get out of my face,” Strongarm growled.

“Ohh,” Nightra cooed, tapping Strongarm’s helm with her digit, “You’re feisty today. But, regardless. My previous offer still stands.”

Nightra hopped off of the desk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Strongarm said.

“You mean you haven’t talked with your little sidekick about what I told you,” Nightra replied. Strongarm turned her head away. 

“Aww, you don’t want him to know. How cute,” Nightra replied. She turned to me, “Since your BFF won’t tell you, I will. When she gets rid of you, she’s welcome to join me where she belongs. I mean, it’s pretty obvious me and her were meant to be together. She’s not cut out for the scrap heap like you.”

Strongarm rose from her desk while Nightra was monologuing. 

“So when, and notice I say when - not if, she joins me, like she was always meant to, you’ll be left to…”

Nightra let out a screech as Strongarm shoved her to the ground. The classroom froze. Everyone turned to face the back corner. No one was about to miss the first fight of the new quartex. Nightra leaped to her pedes. Glow and Scorch stood behind her blocking her from another potential fall. 

“You glitch!” Nightra screamed. Strongarm curled her servo’s into fists ready to fight. Nightra took a swing but Strongarm easily dodged it. The rest of the class crept closer. Strongarm returned the punch, securing a hit on Nightra’s jaw. She screamed and reached for Strongarm’s arm, barely catching it. Nightra used both of her servo’s to try and pull Strongarm to the ground but she swung her other servo hitting Nightra in the face again. She let go of Strongarm’s arm and stumbled back a bit. A small gash lit up with leaked energon just under her optic. Glow and Scorch gave her a gentle push back into the fight. Nightra was furious. Her fans were roaring. Strongarm’s demeanor remained calm. Her greatest strength. Nightra lunged at Strongarm again. She stepped back, avoiding the blow with ease. Nightra was making a fool of herself and she knew it. The other students were cheering. Not for any particular winner, but just for the glory of violence. 

Above the commotion I saw the history teacher, Professor Glyph, roll into the room. No one else took notice. Except for Strongarm. She put her fists down and focused on dodging the infuriated blows Nightra threw at her. The noise started to die down as more and more students took note of the Professor who just entered the room. Nightra was too angry and humiliated to notice. Glyph rolled through the desks as the students scrambled to get out of her way. Even Glow and Scorch ran back to their seats leaving their leader without any backup (not that it would have helped). The Professor came in between the fight. Nightra shrieked realizing that she almost hit a teacher.

“Both of you, sit down,” the Professor said. Even though the two students stood above her, Glyph’s command made them look small. Strongarm gave the professor a nod, but never stopped looking at Nightra who was wiping the energon that had begun to run down her cheek. 

“I’ll be seeing both of you after class,” Glyph said. 

“Yes, Professor,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster and turned to go back to her seat. Glow and Scorch had managed to save her spot front and center. Strongarm only sat down after Nightra made her way to the front of the class. The Professor gave Strongarm a hard look and rolled to the front of the class. 

I looked over to Strongarm. I was still processing what Nightra had said before Strongarm pushed her to the floor. 

An offer? I thought. My thoughts began to spiral. There had been plenty of fledglings who changed during their intermediary years. Those who were popular as primaries dwindled to freakdom. The biggest idiots turned out to be geniuses. Friendships that were supposed to last forever crumbled to dust. I’d seen it all before. 

My optics must have communicated as much because Strongarm reached her servo across the aisle and placed it gently on my shoulder. She gave me a warm smile before returning it back to her desk. That put my mind at ease for the time being, but I still wanted to know more. Nightra was the last bot I wanted coming in-between us. She was too good at pulling friends apart and making monsters out of the ashes.


	6. Never get into an Elevator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from the fight.
> 
> *CW: Abelist slur, actual child abuse, and minor gore*

“Administrator, why is Cadet Clutch being roped into this?” Professor Glyph demanded. I wondered the same thing as I listened through the not-as-soundproof-as-they-thought door separating us from the Head Administrators office. Me, Strongarm, and Nightra had all been dragged to the Admin sector and were sitting outside the Administrators office awaiting our punishment.

“He is the cause of every single one of Cadet Strongarm’s fights,” Major Hardaft (he really doesn’t deserve a name) replied. Strongarm put a sympathetic servo on my shoulder.

“Did I ask you?” Glyph shot back.

“He needs to be punished,” the Major insisted. 

“Stop bickering,” the Head Administrator said, exasperation exuding from his voice, “I feel like I am dealing with students, not faculty.”

“But you are dealing with students,” Glyph said, “Three of them, just on the other side of this door. No doubt eavesdropping on this very conversion. Two of which are obvious aggressors and one who is being unfairly accused of antagonism by a teacher. And with that said, Administrator, I ask you, are you going to let the ill will of this pathetic excuse of a combat director cloud your judgment by condoning the unwarranted punishment of an innocent student?”

A moment of silence followed. 

“Damn,” Strongarm muttered, “she’s got some bearings on her.”

I nodded in agreement. A smile spread across both of our face plates. Sweet, sweet recompense. 

“Are you gunna let that cripple talk to you like that?” Major roared. His fists pounded on the desk sending a massive boom through the walls. Strongarm and Nightra flinched.

“SILENCE!” the Administrator commanded, but his voice was riddled with unhinged rage. I could feel the tension oozing through the walls and into my spark. I slunk deeper in my slouch. 

“Professor Glyph,” the Administrator continued much more calmly. “You are dismissed.”

The Professor said nothing. I looked over at her as she rolled out the door. Her optics were full of defeated rage.

“Sorry,” she whispered, barely audible. I wanted to thank her, but my vocals were frozen. She turned and rolled down the hallway out of the sector. 

“Bitch,” Nightra growled as soon as Glyph was out of audio range. Strongarm shot her an angry look.

“What are you going to do,” Nightra replied in a low tone, “Fight me again?”

“Aren’t you embarrassed enough?” Strongarm replied. I wished I could have seen the look on Nightra’s face. Strongarm’s larger frame blocked my sight. I gave her a friendly punch on the shoulder. She smiled. Her comebacks were getting stronger. Maybe one day enough to match her physical strength. 

“See them to Maintenance,” the Administrator said, rage still tinting his voice, “All three of them will receive 30 cycles of clean up duty.”

“30 cycles?” the Major countered, “The runt should get that many, my bots should get three max!”

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“No, sir,” the Major sighed before leaving. He slammed the door on the way out. This time I flinched. 

“Get up,” he barked. We lept to our pedes, “All of you, with me.”

He stormed off ahead of us down the corridor. We followed him in fearful silence. Even Nightra didn’t attempt to comment. We reached the end of the hallway where a lift awaited. The Admin sector was set above the rest of the campus. The Major leaned his face to the camera where his optic was scanned. A ding followed and the door opened. We stepped inside remaining silent as the elevator shifted downwards. The Major stood closest to me. Never directly looking at me, but I could tell he was watching. I pressed my servos together hoping to relieve any bit of the terror brimming in my spark.

It didn’t help. 

The door opened to the main level.

“Strongarm, Nightra,” the Major said before we could step out, “Meet me in west maintenance.”

What? Not me? Scrap. I gave Strongarm a desperate look. She grabbed my servo.

“And I better not get there before you,” he added. Nightra didn’t need to be told twice. She was halfway out the door before he finished speaking. Strongarm planted her pedes, refusing to move. I turned to face the Major. His optics burned with rage. 

“I said meet me in west maintenance,” he repeated. Strongarm gripped my servo harder. 

“No,” she said softly, barely audible. 

“Excuse me,” he said, “What did you just say to me?”

“I said, no,” she repeated, her voice much louder. The Major shoved me into the back wall. The sudden jerk tore my servo from Strongarms. He stepped closer, looming over her frame. Her optics flooded with fear as she backed into the side wall. He grabbed her neck raising her to his optic level. She writhed in pain as she tried in vein to pry his servo off of her vent system.

I wanted to scream. Stop! STOP! But my vocals were frozen. Some friend I was...

“You don’t get to say no to me, cadet,” he snarled. His grip tightened. Lubricant started to gather at the corners of Strongarm’s optics. 

“I am your commander!” He threw her out of the elevator. She hit the ground with a thud followed by a horrible screech as her frame scraped against the floor, “And I command you to meet me in West Maintenance!”

Strongarm pushed herself up from the ground. Her fans wheezed. As she found her balance, she wiped the lubricant from her optics. Her face hardened. Again, refusing to move.

“You…” he growled as he started towards Strongarm. In a moment of bravery (and complete stupidity, but mostly stupidity), I latched onto the Major’s leg and sank my denta into his metal. He let out a scream. 

“Clutch!” Strongarm shouted. 

The Major instinctively shook me off, sending me straight into the elevator wall. He turned and lobbed his pede into my mid-section. My vision dimmed as everything turned red with pain. I must have screamed. Or maybe it was Strongarm. Or the Major. I couldn’t tell. Alert’s flashed across my visor. Damage to my internals. I don’t even know. I was pulled off the ground just in time to see the elevator door shut. The major slammed me to the wall again. His face was furious. He was screaming, but I couldn't seem to hear him. 

What the hell did I just do? Did I actually just bite Major Hardaft? I started to laugh. There was no way. 

A heavy metal servo collided with my face, sending me back down towards the ground. Hot energon pooled in my mouth leaking out the corners. I continued laughing even as pain surged through my frame.

Did I actually bite the monster?

He was yelling again. I wasn’t listening.

The door opened. He grabbed my helm and dragged me through the familiar hallways of the Admin sector. I looked at the leg I had bitten. A trail of pink trickled from the wound. I laughed harder. I actually pierced his armor. 

The Major barked at me again. Probably along the lines of ‘shut up’ of something, but I couldn’t stop. This was too good. 

We barged through another door where he threw me into a chair. My laughter dissipated as I looked around. This was the inside of the Administrator’s office. And I was facing the head of the school himself: Chain Gun. For as many times as I had been outside of his office, I had never actually seen him face to face. He was a big black a grey mech with a helicopter alt-mode. I could see the teal rotor stick out from his back. He did not look impressed. 

“This parasite assaulted me,” the Major said. I burst into laughter again.

“Assaulted?” I snickered.

“Shuttup,” he barked. 

“This thing?” A smirk appeared on the Administrator’s faceplate. The Major looked indignant.

“The little bastard bit me!” He said, slamming his pede on the desk to show off his wound - as if he needed proof. It was leaking excessively now. My dente marks were deeply pronounced. I couldn’t believe my jaw had that much strength. The smirk disappeared from the Administrators face. 

“He was upset because of his punishment and thought that gnawing on my leg was a good idea,” the Major lied. 

I stopped laughing. It was starting to really sink in now. I just bit Major Hardaft. The mech who made games out of humiliating me. The mech I spent my whole life avoiding. The mech Strongarm told me from the start to stay away from. Dead! I was so dead! Idiot, idiot, idiot! What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t. No thoughts just rage. Stupid, stupid rage! That was all this monster needed. 

“Cadet, it seems you are finally realizing what you just did,” the Administrator said seemingly reading my mind. I nodded in agreement. He turned to the Major.

“Get this off of my desk and take him to the icebox. We’ll take care of the paperwork later.”

A smile grew across Major’s face, “Yes, sir.”

He grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the room. 

What the hell was the icebox?


	7. The Good Stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clutch finds out what the icebox is and makes a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Primaries - Elementary Grades (1st-5th)  
> Intermediaries - Middle School Grades (6th-9th)  
> Secondaries - High School Grades (10th-12th)

As the Major dragged me down the corridors for what seemed like a kilocycle, I was 99% sure that the “icebox” was a euphemism for death. He was really just about to throw me off a cliff. Or melt me down. Or launch me into a black hole. The paperwork the Administrator mentioned was just going to be the hassle of covering my death up. 

I closed my optics. My frame tensed up, preparing for death. I did not care to see where I was going nor the instruments of my demise. I just wanted this all to be over with. 

It was quite a shock when instead of dying I was locked in a tiny room. The Major probably said something before leaving, but “preparing for death brain” pretty much shuts out all sound. I looked around the room expecting some sort of torture device, but all the room possessed was cold. Oppressive, unrelenting cold. 

Icebox = Freezing

Makes sense. 

I curled myself into a tight ball on the ground in a sad attempt to preserve my own heat. Warnings started to flash across my visor. First for the internal damage and second for the cold. They were dismissed without a second glance. I just wanted to be left to my thoughts.

Thud!

I turned.

Thud!

“Hey loser,” a muffled voice called from the other side. It sounded like a secondary. Older than me, but not quite fully grown. I shuffled closer to the wall.

“What?” I replied.

“Primus, you sound young.”

“You sound old.”

“Touche. Name’s Bonetop. You?”

“Clutch.”

“Clutch, huh. What did a little primary like you do to wind up in here?”

“I’m not a primary. I am an intermediary,” I retorted.

“Primary, intermediary. Same difference.”

No, they’re not, but I wasn’t too keen on arguing with my only source of entertainment. 

“Are you gunna be mad that I called you a primary or tell me what you did?” Bonetop repeated.

“I bit a teacher,” it sounded so dumb saying it out loud. Bonetop burst into laughter.

“Which one?” 

“The Major…” I grumbled.

“Major ______?” 

“That’s the one.”

“That’s even funnier!” Bonetop’s laugh turned hysterical, “Always hated that slagger.”

I cracked a smile. Glad it was an academy wide thing. 

“Why’d you bite him?” 

“He hit my friend.”

Bonetop stopped laughing, “Scrap… really?”

“Threw her too,”

“Damn. I knew that mudslogger was a piece of scrap but I didn’t think he’d stoop so low.”

“Well, he did…”

“Hitting younglings… I’m glad you bit him,” Bonetop said after a short pause, “Takes some mad bearings to pull that off.”

“Thanks. I drew plenty of fluid too.”

Bonetop laughed again, “You must have some serious dente on you.”

“It might be the only thing on me worth a damn.”

“That and your bearings.”

My turn to laugh.

“Ya’know kid, being stuck in here for a few paracycles might not be so bad with you around.”

“Paracycles?” My voice cracked. I was so sure you died after a few orns in temperatures like this. 

“Oh you sweet, little youngling,” Bonetop replied “Yeah, paracycles. And that’s when you’re lucky.”

“How long have you been in here?”

“Now or in total?”

“You’ve been here more than once?”

“Added all up, I’ve been in here ‘bout two kilocycles, but this time it’s only been about a megacycle.”

“Primus,” I cursed, “What did you do?”

“Off-world Field training went wrong and as per usual, it all got blamed on me.”

Off-world field training. They must be close to Graduating. Admin only sent upper secondaries on those missions. I pressed for more, “What happened?” 

“Unimportant,” they snapped back.

“Sorry,” I said, immediately regretting my curiosity. 

“Don’t apologize,” Bonetop’s voice seemed distant. Almost, sad, “It’s… it’s just a touchy subject right now.”

“Okay,” I replied, unsure of what else there was to say. Silence followed. 

Here I was back to the wall in an ice-cold cell, talking to a mech I couldn’t even see. Five kilks in and I already ruined it. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. My mind wandered to Strongarm. I hoped she was okay. I hoped the Major didn’t go back to finish what he started.

“Anyways, do ya’ know good stories?” Bonetop piped. Their voice was cheery again.

Grateful for the change of subject, I replied, “Yeah! You ever heard about the all-consuming spiral?”

“Nope, but it sounds creepy.”

“Is creepy okay?”

“Creepy is great.”

We exchanged tales until I heard the door open. I stopped mid-sentence, starting at the massive flier framed mech in the door. He set a cup of energon on the ground before leaving. I didn’t even think to thank him. Through the wall, I heard Bonetop’s door open. 

“Hey, Falcon,” Bonetop said.

Falcon, that was the Maintenance guy. I’d never seen him before. In addition to keeping this place running, he also took care of delinquents. How sweet.

“What’ve you been up to all day?” Bonetop asked. 

“Outer repair work,” Falcon replied. His voice was hoarse. 

“Did you see anyone?” There was a desperation in Bonetop’s voice, “Anyone come home?”

“No.”

“Has there been any word? Signal? Anything?”

“No.”

“Do you think they’re okay?” 

“I’m sorry, but no.”

“You gotta give me something,” Bonetop’s voice cracked. 

“There’s nothing to give.”

“You’ll tell me…” Bonetop croaked through a sob, “You’ll tell me if you hear anything, right?”

“You will be the first I tell.”

“Thank you.”

“Drink your energon. It’s the good stuff.”

The door shut. Bonetop’s quiet sobs floated through the thin walls. I grabbed my energon, sipping it slowly. It was the good stuff.


End file.
